


Recognition

by InsaneOrange



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, M/M, Murder Husbands, Psychopath Stiles Stilinski, find each other, psychopath peter hale, ritualised killing, sexualised murder, the reaper - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-26
Updated: 2015-11-26
Packaged: 2018-05-03 11:40:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5289332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsaneOrange/pseuds/InsaneOrange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“This just in from Beacon Hills: a girl was found lying dead in the first floor bathroom of Argent Farmhouse this morning."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Recognition

_“This just in from Beacon Hills: a girl was found lying dead in the first floor bathroom of Argent Farmhouse this morning. The girl has been identified as a local high school student, Erica Reyes. The owner of the farmhouse, Chris Argent, who is a well-known firearms dealer, was contacted on his phone earlier in the morning about this incident. According to Mr Argent, he is in Italy for a conference with his wife right now, and plans to return as soon as possible. His daughter, Allison Argent, was the one who contacted the police. Currently, she has been taken to the hospital, as she had a breakdown seeing the body in the bathroom. Ms Argent had organised a birthday party for herself at her father’s farmhouse in his absence—the current number of attendees remain uncertain. The farmhouse has been sealed, pending further investigation. CNN managed to get pictures of the crime scene before the police sealed off the area. But due to the way the girl was murdered, we cannot show the pictures to you on television. We do have a crime behavioural analyst with us today to help us understand the crime. Dr Alan Deaton, who is now retired, is here with us right now, and has been shown the pictures of the crime scene. What do you think, doctor?”_

_“Well, when I first looked at the picture, I thought it could be another victim of The Reaper, the serial killer that has been on the loose for the past five years. The girl had the wounds he typically inflects—a precise slash from her chest to her pelvis, two stab wounds over her shoulder blades and the jugular vein cut out. The crime scene itself is fairly clean as The Reaper has been known to clean up after himself. But...”_

_“But what, doctor?”_

_“I cannot say for sure if The Reaper has evolved or it is another killer trying to imitate The Reaper or if The Reaper had some help.”_

_“Help? What do you mean by that?”_

_“Well, The Reaper’s modus operandi seems to have changed—there is something... ritualistic about this killing. The wounds he usually inflicts are present, of course, but if we look at the way that the crime scene is laid out—it looks deliberately set up to look like it does, instead of looking detached, like it has in the past . The victim is sprawled on her back and her eyelids have been removed, which seems highly deliberate as The Reaper is known to not care about the positioning of the body and with the kind of wounds that are inflicted on the victim, it is more likely for her to have fallen on her stomach than her back . The removal of eyelids might suggest exhibitionist tendencies in the killer—or killers, as the case may be. However, nothing can be said for certain without proper investigation and a thorough autopsy. But ultimately, it does come to this: either The Reaper is reaching new heights of psychopathy or a copy-cat is in town or The Reaper has a partner. In either situation, people need to be really careful while trusting a stranger.”_

_“Thank you, doctor. CNN suggests all the viewers to close their doors to strangers for their own safety. Until we can get more information about this case, this is Jennifer Blake for CNN, with cameraman Matt Daehler.”_

 

The party is glorious. In the deep bowels of the suburbs of Beacon Hills at an isolated farmhouse, there is no one to complain about the loud music; only people who enjoy it. The host had invited some of her friends for a weekend bash, her friends had invited their friends, their friends had invited their friends, and the party swelled like a rising tide. Three hundred people are crammed into the huge living room illuminated by just a chandelier, dancing and inebriated. Some of the people have occupied the rooms on the upper floors in the farmhouse and the rest are in or around the swimming pool. The living room and the swimming pool look fifteen minutes away from turning into an all-out orgy. 

As Peter steps into the living room, he turns more than a few heads in his black, deep V-neck and skin-tight jeans. He saunters up to the bar and ordered a peg of neat Blue Label and turns to survey the room. More than half the people in the room were half naked, lost in the dubstep that the DJ is playing. The party might die down in the morning but it will be resurrected again the next night. Plenty of time and plenty of fish in the sea, he thought, an amused smile playing on his lips. He looks at his peg, shakes the glass a little and knocks back his whiskey in one go. Then, he makes his way into the crowd, looking distinctively predatory. For a while, he loses himself in the music and the gyrating bodies, just having fun. Peter lays down a shot glass of tequila between the breasts of a tall, brunette woman; picks it up with his teeth and downs it; leisurely licks the salt on her collar bone; bites the lime wedged between her teeth. He undulates against a particularly delicious-looking Middle-Eastern man; licks into his mouth, making him pant for more; drags him to an alcove, and sucks him off; he leaves him slumped in a corner, trying to catch his breath. A pretty redhead catches his eye as soon as he comes out of the alcove but he needs a break. After all, sex is not all he came here for: he’ll need his energy if he finds someone to really play with. He makes his way to the bathroom to rinse his mouth and freshen up, deciding to check out the swimming pool after, as he hadn’t found anyone really interesting in the living room.

There are barely any unoccupied bathrooms on the ground floor, so Peter makes his way to the first floor. The first door he pulls open turns out to be an empty bathroom, and he steps in. The bathroom is smaller than he thought it’d be. He closes the door behind him closes, but the music is not completely muffled. Quite lavishly decorated, he notes as he traces his fingers over the gold-plated knobs near the gold-plated basin. A little too… ostentatious for his tastes, perhaps, but went quite well with the marble counter. The boxes and bottles of powders and lotions near the knobs make the bathroom look like something out of Italian Renaissance. I’d really like to meet the owner of this farmhouse, he thinks. Perhaps they could have dinner while he convinces the owner to rent out this place to him for a week. It was an excellent place for relaxation and recreational activities.  
The mirror on the wall is huge and clear and he can see his reflection perfectly. He admires himself in the mirror for a while, tilts and turns his head. His stubble is light and perfectly groomed, his blue eyes even more striking tonight in anticipation of the thrill he is chasing. In the dim lighting of the bathroom, his face looks sharper than it is. He rinses his mouth and is patting his mouth dry with the towel hanging to the right of the counter when the door to the bathroom slams open. Well… How rude.

“Dude, are you going to take longer to look pretty? I need to use the loo, so if you don’t mind fucking off…”

The boy—there is no way is that kid an adult; not when he’s wearing dirty sneakers and flannel over a T-shirt that proclaims ‘Stud Muffin’—meets his eyes in the mirror. His hair is gelled to defy gravity and his huge brown eyes look at him desperately. He looks out of place and overdressed for a party like this. Peter carefully observes the boy for a few more seconds. He has moles splattered all over his face—and maybe all over his body. He’s not classically handsome or even beautiful, but there is something interesting about him. His hands, though, are lovely and particularly enchanting as he fidgets with his flannel shirt, hopping on his toes impatiently. Something isn’t right, Peter thinks as he turns a knob and splashes some water on his face, patting in dry with excruciating slowness.

“Dude,” the boy repeats, “do you mind?”

He looks a little annoyed now—slightly twitchy and obviously uncomfortable in his skin. He’s breaking too soon, Peter realises. But if he hadn’t known better—if he hadn’t been as interested in body language as he is—he’d think that the boy genuinely required the bathroom.

Peter turns to face him.

“Well, this is a surprise. You’re not old enough to be in this house, sweetheart. Mind telling me what you’re doing here?” he asks softly.

The boy blushes beautifully and stills a little, hunching over himself. He still continues to twist his flannel shirt around his fingers. Peter finds it highly distracting but managed to keep his eyes on the boy.

“I—I just came here with friends and now I can’t locate them and I have to pee…”

“Aww,” Peter coos. “Little Red’s lost in the woods.”

“Can you just leave?” the boy snaps, letting go of his shirt. His fingers clench into his palms.

“How precious!” Peter exclaims delightfully. Making people lose control is something that he loves and seeing this boy lose it is doubly interesting as Peter cannot decide upon what he is going to do.

“Well, if you’re not budging—” the boy shrugs and closes the door behind him and is about to bolt it shut but Peter is onto him in a flash. He turns the boy to face him; clasps the nape of the boy’s neck as his left hand clutches the boy’s hip in a bruising grip. The boy is caught between the wall and Peter’s body. His lips hover over the boy’s plump ones and they stay like that for a while, their breathing growing harsher every moment and arousal thrumming in their veins. Peter glances away from the boy’s lips and notices that the boy’s eyes are heavy-lidded and Peter can almost taste the boy’s anticipation on his tongue.

“You’re not fooling me,” Peter breathes over the boy’s lips. 

The boy jerks in his grip.

“What d’you—” 

“Shhh.” Peter runs his palm up and down the boy’s back, underneath the flannel but over the T-shirt, dragging the cloth sensually over his back.

The boy blinks up at him innocently with his wide, brown eyes. Terror and a bit of curiosity peek through from behind his eyes. The façade is cute, Peter admits, but he’d like the person behind the mask even better. 

“I see what you are,” Peter whispers, looking directly into those Bambi-eyes, continuing his ministrations.

The boy’s eyes flash with surprise and then grow hard and cold. The boy is immediately standing straighter and completely still; dangerously so. An amused smirk is playing upon his lips but there is something lurking behind his eyes, which makes him all the more appealing to Peter: it’s the same thing that Peter sees when he looks at his own reflection. Peter had liked the boy in his disguise, which had broken far too easily; they must work on that. Peter likes him even better now, when he is not pretending. 

“What do I call you, darling?” Peter asks gently, his right hand now gripping the boy’s shoulder.

“My friends call me Stiles,” the boy replies, his voice a lot deeper than it was a few minutes ago.

“The same friends who brought you here and vanished?” Peter asks, an eyebrow raised. 

The boy replied by leaning in close and biting kisses over Peter’s jaw.

Suddenly, the door is pulled open. Peter and Stiles took their time to turn away from each other and see who had interrupted them.  
A pretty, petite girl with bleach-blonde hair was staring at them with wide, brown eyes. 

“Um, sorry,” she stammers. “I was just looking for—”

“—a threesome, dear?” Peter finishes her sentence, smiling at her. He changes his grip so that he holds onto Stiles across his waist with one hand, while he offers his other hand in invitation to the girl. Stiles tucks his face into Peter’s neck and Peter can feel Stiles’s smile with a hint of teeth.

The girl bites her lower lip, considering, and slowly nods at Peter. She takes his hand and gets pulled into the bathroom with them, closing the door behind her softly.

**Author's Note:**

> Constructive criticism will be very helpful, as will be the offers to beta this story. Thanks for reading!


End file.
